


Hell's Secret

by Uniasus



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Wing Cutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26167921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: After the Apocalypse that didn't happen, the Devil himself knocks on Crowley's door. Crowley panics, slams the door in the Devil's face, and then panics harder.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 136





	1. Voice of the Devil

Crowley didn't know what startled him more, that someone knocked on his door or that when he opened it he found the Devil himself standing in the hallway.

He didn't even give himself the time to swear. Instead, Crowley rotated his wrist upwards, fingers rubbing against each other to snap, knowing nothing, having no plan. If he could just _stop time_ he could think, escape, alert Aziraphale –

The Devil's hand jerked forward, fingers curling around Crowley's own before he finished snapping. The power sat there, poised on his fingertips, and Crowley _couldn't access it._

"I'm not here for what you think I'm here for," the Devil said.

"I don't believe you," Crowley snarled.

He was an idiot, standing up to the Devil. Crowley still wasn't sure walking away from his last encounter with his soul intact hadn't been a fluke. He'd been stupid. He'd been lucky. He'd been standing with the Anti-Christ, who had a whole lot more power than Crowley. Enough to banish his dad.

Today, Adam Young was miles away. Crowley stood alone in the Devil's presence, completely at the mercy of the King of Hell, and he wouldn't get a chance to say goodbye to Aziraphale.

"Of course, you don't," the Devil said. His grip on Crowley's hands tightened. "But use that _imagination_ of yours guess why I might be here."

Crowley glared, but when nothing happened, when the seconds dragged into minutes, when they'd been standing still for a solid ten minutes, Crowley conceded the point that the Devil hadn't come to kill him.

"It's not my place to guess at someone's reasoning," Crowley said.

The Devil huffed. "Never stopped you before. It's why we're here."

Crowley flinched.

"What do you know? You actually learned something from Falling."

"Didn't we all?"

The Devil hummed.

They still stood in the doorway, the Devil's grip crushing Crowley's hands.

"Why are you here?" Crowley asked.

"I'm here because I want to see if you want your old job back."

The Devil's answer was so startling Crowley didn't notice the other demon letting Crowley's hand go.

"Well, not exactly," the Devil continued. He grinned, pleased at Crowley's stunned face. "God would never do that. I'm afraid being the Voice of God is something you'll never return to. How does being the Voice of Satan sound?"

"Ngk," Crowley said. He slammed the door shut in the Devil's face and snapped himself away.

* * *

"Angel, grab whatever you need, but we've got to go. _Now."_

"Go? Go where? I just made tea!"

Made tea and spilled it down his front. Crowley couldn't blame him. Crowley always parked outside the bookshop and walked through the door. But here he was, without the Bentley, and he'd appeared right next to Aziraphale's elbow while the angel attempted to take his first sip.

"Doesn't matter, we need to _go."_

He ripped off his glasses. Aziraphale went from confused and slightly annoyed to serious. Crowley wondered what his face looked like.

"I don't need anything," Aziraphale slipped his hand into Crowley's, putting a stop to the demon's pacing. 

"Are you sure? No books? No nothing? I'm not, I'm not sure we can come back."

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. "Yes. Let's go."

Crowley wasted five whole seconds kissing Aziraphale. He'd expected the angel to ask more questions. To demand answers, or babble about things he wanted to bring, or snap books into a suitcase. To have him trust Crowley so much he'd get up and go –

Still kissing Aziraphale, he snapped his fingers.

They showed up in Venice. Crowley could have taken them farther, but this way he wasn't drained and if they needed angelic help well, Italy had lots of churches and Venice lots of water Aziraphale could bless. Crowley looked around quickly before shuffling Aziraphale towards the closest church.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"Devil showed up at my flat."

"The _Devil?"_

"Knocked and everything."

"And you're alive?"

"Surprised as you."

Holding hands, they wove around a tourist group.

"Revenge for, well, the Apocalypse not happening?"

"Nope."

"The trick we played on Heaven and Hell?"

"Not that either."

The church Crowley had sensed wasn't a tourist draw, but even better there was a small hostel across the street. Crowley dragged Aziraphale into the lobby, snapping his fingers even as the teen behind the desk opened his mouth. Crowley wasn't going to sleep on bunk beds in a room for eight. And look at that, this place had a single private room currently unoccupied.

“What did he want then?” Aziraphale asked as they climbed two floors of stairs to their room.

“I, well, that is,” Crowley sighed. “It has to do with who I was before.”

“Right.” Aziraphale’s tone was clipped, an end to the conversation, but he didn’t sound miffed. He snapped his fingers, but Crowley didn’t know what he miracled up until he opened the door to their room and found the coffee table covered in liquor bottles.

“I’m assuming this is not a conversation you want to have sober. It can wait an hour or two. Wards?”

Satan, Crowley loved Aziraphale. “Wards.”

It took them an hour to set up enough wards for Crowley to loosen the tension in his shoulders, including a tricky bit of spell work that turned mirrors into screens. Crowley arranged them in a line on the loveseat, showcasing the lobby downstairs, right outside the room’s door, and each of the four corners the hostel sat on. All designed to give them notice and time to flee.

Then, they started drinking.

Not to get sloshed, but they both knew thinking on the past wasn’t something Crowley could do without a bit of numbing. Aziraphale had picked up on the fact Crowley didn’t like thinking about the Fall, about what he’d lost. Though, to be honest, that wasn’t what he was trying to avoid now.

In order to explain why the Devil was after him, Crowley would have to reveal one of Hell’s unspoken secrets and in doing so risk Aziraphale’s love.


	2. Venice

"What do you… any guesses? About who I was before the Fall?" Crowley concentrated on the scotch in his glass, a lovely amber color, as he waited for an answer.

Aziraphale leaned against him but made no moves to get Crowley to look at him, for which the demon was grateful. His glasses were off, which was as comfortable as he felt right now.

"I always suspected you were highly ranked, based on the scars on your back. Old sets of wings burning as you fell?"

Crowley swallowed. Not how he lost them but, "Yeah. I was pretty high."

"And…" Aziraphale trailed off. "I never meet Raphael. But I'd heard about him, Angel of Healing. He was supposed to have golden-red hair. That, plus… well, you heal rather quickly. I thought it would take you much longer for your feet to recover in 1941. Those were holy wounds, dearest. And I used to watch you heal Warlock. You healed a broken bone once in seconds with nothing more than a kiss.

"They say Hell took Raphael. He didn't fall, he was taken. Turned into a demon, Michael used to say. A warning for us all to stay in Heaven, during the early days. As awful as that sounds, I often imagined that was you. That you were too good to fall. Secretly, you're rather nice, Crowley."

Crowley gave a dry laugh. "Good guess, but –" Crowley shook his head. Took a large swallow of scotch. "Raphael was my younger brother."

* * *

“Cici-”

“Don’t call me that,” Crawly snapped. Or tried to, anyway. He didn’t have much energy to sound anything more than exhausted.

After gathering what energy he could, Crawly pushed himself over and scooted to the wall of the cell. For Hell being a place of fire and brimstone, the rock felt cool on his back and neck. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Cici-”

“Shut. Up. Raphael.”

The angel in the cell with him huffed but stepped closer all the same. “I can take care of some of those bruises-”

“No, you can’t.”

Raphael sputtered. “I’m the angel of healing!”

“Not an angel anymore, Raph. Don’t know if you can heal me.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.”

As much as Crawly didn't want to acknowledge the throbbing in his calf, it was an easier thing to be aware of than how his angelic form had twisted. From interlocking shapes and dimensions to something lower, Earthy. He felt heavy, and slow, and awful.

They sat in silence until Raphael broke it for the third time. “Can I still try?”

Crawly sighed. It was hard to say no to his brother, for all that he ranked higher. _Used to. Used to rank higher._

He stuck out his leg, the bite marks from hell hounds leaving his calf a bloody mess. Raphael hissed. “Is that _bone?”_

Crawly looked down at, let's be honest, the remains of his left leg. “I don’t got a corporation, so it’s not exactly bone. Just looks like it.”

Raphael sat down next to him, hands gentle. Crawley noted he was unharmed, his standard angelic beauty shining through. No idea why the Fallen dragged him down here if they weren’t gonna hurt him eventually. Crawly hoped that time was far away.

The brush of holy healing stung. Crawly threw his head back, bit through his tongue, and got a mouthful of blood. It was sheer will power that kept him in this illusion of a form, that showed Raphel the human-shaped being he used to be instead of the snake creature he’d become.

The pain stopped suddenly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Cici-”

“Not. Cici.” Crawly panted.

"Then what else am I supposed to call you?"

"Crawly," said a voice at the door.

Crawly opened his eyes slowly, doing his best to remain calm and not give away how started he to see the Devil in the doorway to his cell.

Or Raphael's cell. No reason for the Devil to want to deal with him – there were other demons for that as Crawley learned hours ago.

"It's a nice name," the Devil continued. "It hints at a low, slithering creature. Someone who can twist words as a snake twists their body. Circles and curves and long, long tales."

Crawley hissed at him. The Devil laughed.

"Fight all you want, Crawley. You know it's true. You lost power when you fell. I gained it."

Raphael gazed between the two of them, face slowly paling. "Satan."

"If you like," the Devil said. "Satan. _Adversary_. Opponent. I certainly oppose Her. Is that what they call me Upstairs?"

Raphael's eyes darted toward Crawly. The Devil caught it.

"Oh, do they think dear 'Cici', the most powerful to Fall, leads Hell?" The Devil threw back his neck and laughed. "We're not _Heaven,_ Raphael. We're Heaven's opposite. It's _mirror._ "

"What do you want?" Crawley snapped. He refused to use the demon's self-appointed title – Devil. But he also had no idea what angel they used to be. Like Adam, the Devil had renamed them all and no one could disagree. Especially not Crawly.

"Why, I want you to learn! There are no healers in Hell, save for fair Raphael here. No one else with the imagination to figure out how to adapt angelic healing to demonic bodies. We'll fight against Heaven for the injustice of the Fall, I'll guarantee it, and I want someone who can patch us up when we do."

"I can't just… _teach…_ healing," Raphael began. "I was created with the skill, just as… as Crawly was created with the skill to forge stars and hear God."

The Devil took a step into the room. "Well, figure out how to do it quickly. Because every day we're going to hurt him," the Devil pointed to Crawly on the floor, calf still bloody and chewed, "and if you don't heal him, eventually he'll die. Best to learn first-hand, isn't it, Crawly?"

Crawly hissed, complete with tongue flick. "You just want to punish me."

"Of course. This is Hell, that's what we'll do. And no one deserves it more than you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder - you're always welcome to hit me up on tumblr as [Uniasus](uniasus.tumblr.com).


	3. The Archangel Raphael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things: 1) Mind the new tags. Crowley does not have a happy chapter. 2) Please make your guess as to who Crowley was before you get to the end, and then please scream at me when it's revealed. I want to know who saw it coming, and who didn't.

Crawly had one skill left from his time in Heaven and he refused to use it. It drove Raphael mad. His younger brother (ex younger brother?) made comments, asked questions, anything to get Crawly to think and answer. Every single time, Crawly stared at the wall across from him and ignored Raphael. Thinking. Answering questions. _Imagination._ It's what had ended up causing him and so many others to Fall. It's what made him end up _here._

 _Here_ was daily torture. It seemed the Devil was going down, or rather up, a list. Each day a different demon took him away and caused him harm. It started easy. Light. The demons taking him were the ones who hated him the most. The ex-high-ranking angels. The ones who used to have power, who asked him the most questions, who spread his answers.

They were the demons who had, in a way, fallen the farthest. But it was because of that they were also the weakest. Hell truly was Heaven's mirror. It's reverse.

Crawly found himself punched with ill-formed fists. Waterboarded with mid-sized buckets. Kicked and bit and screamed at. One poor demon, who as an angel used to look at Crawly with stars in her eyes, had simply looked at him and cried.

"Why why why?" she sobbed. "Why did this have to happen? Didn't you know? You were the _Voice of God!_ Did you lead half of Heaven to ruin for fun? _"_

Crawly couldn't bring himself to even hold her as she sobbed. He deserved the punishments he got.

It's why he demanded Raphael heal him, even as he refused to work with the angel. Raphael healed with divine light; every touch of it _burned_ through Crawly's new body.

"I'm not healing this," Raphael sat across from Crawly in the cell. "It hurts you, Cici."

"I don't mind hurting, Raph. And for the one-hundredth time, it's Crawly."

"Yeah, that's the problem. I'm not helping you hurt yourself, _Cici._ "

Crawly rolled his eyes. He wasn't seriously injured, he didn't think. In the human form he presented as his injuries settled into broken ribs. In his demonic form, he felt the injury in what _might_ be something similar. He didn't understand his new biology and form completely yet, but the injury was below his head and above what semblance he had to a waist.

He'd made up lots of stories about snakes, he realized. He'd never read anything other than basic facts, however.

"Look, Raph. If you don't heal me now, the demon who gets me tomorrow will attack the same spot and hurt me worse."

"You don't know that. I could punch you in the ribs right now and it would hurt less than me trying to heal you."

"Oh yeah? How do you know?"

Without warning, Raphael manifested his wings on their current plane. Not only wide, they were also tall, taking up half the cell space. Still seated across the cell, arms crossed, Raphael nevertheless flicked one of his wings out and smacked Crawly's side.

The wallop startled him and pain starburst up his side. Yet, Raphael was right. It hurt less than the last time the angel started to heal him.

“See? I’m not hurting you further.” Raphael recalled his wings and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed.

Crawly looked at him. Raphael probably could have miracled himself clean, but he hadn’t. His white robes were dirty along the hems, cell dust and demon blood. His red hair was limp and greasy, probably tangled too. Crawly itched to pull his brother against his chest and groom him – pull out the knots in his hair, smooth the ruffled fingers.

“Why do you think angelic healing hurts demons?” Raphael asked after a moment.

“Dunno.”

“No ideas? None at all?”

“Nope.”

Truth be told, he had been mulling over the question. There wasn’t much to do between torture sessions, and Raphael asked every damn time. But so many angels had asked him questions in Heaven. And so many of them believed him.

They all now lived in Hell.

* * *

Eventually, as the demons Crawly was passed to got more and more powerful, Crawly got more serious wounds. Raphael eyed them every time. Crawly could tell he itched to heal each injury, but viewed the slashes and wounds as still the lesser concern compared to the pain healing would cause. He tried to heal the old-fashioned way – water and bandages.

The water was whatever the demons outside felt willing to provide. Sometimes it was tainted with sulfur, which made Raphael’s hands turn red but had no result on Crawly. Other times it was nothing more than very thin mud. Not in a corporation, Crawly didn’t have to worry about infection, but he could feel the small bits of dirt and other stuff seep into his demonic body. Absently, he wondered if it would dye his skin like a tattoo.

As soon as he thought the thought, he tossed it away. No using his imagination.

* * *

Crawly woke up to Raphael’s calves, his rob ripped so much for bandages it now reached his knees. The angel was standing in front of him, guarding almost, against someone who stood in the doorway to his cell. Crawly didn’t know any demon well enough to identify them by feet, so concentrated on the conversation the two were having.

“You’re supposed to heal him. Teach him the skill.”

“I refuse to heal him.”

“If you don’t heal him, what use are you?”

The Devil. Raphael was talking to the Devil.

He tried to push himself to his elbows, but couldn’t muster the strength. Whoever had him in a session today had done a bit of damage on top of his already earn wounds.

“Healing _hurts_ him. I’m not in the habit of that.”

“Look at him. His energy has dropped daily, he’s dripping ichor. Right now, he’s on his way to a slow, slow death. Certainly healing him is better than that?”

Raphael didn’t answer. Crawly could imagine the glare though.

“You’ll heal him,” the Devil said. “You’ll teach him the skill. If it turns out he can’t learn, well, maybe we’ll keep you around. But if you don’t even _try,_ we have no use for you, Archangel Raphel. You’ll be disposed of. We’ll snag one of your Malakim brethren.”

Raphael’s whole body tensed; Crawly watched his calf muscles contract.

“Think on it,” the Devil said. “I’ll give Crawly today to rest, and you to understand your mind.”

The door, when it shut, echoed through the room with a clang.

When the sound stopped, Crawly reached out a hand and tapped on Raphael’s ankle. “Raph?”

Whirling around, Raphael collapsed to his knees at Crawly’s side. “Oh Cici, I don’t know what to do.” He bent forward, face pressing into Crawly’s whipped back as he cried. The saltwater stung, but only lightly.

“You protect your choir,” Crawly croaked out. “That’s what we do as Archangels.” Raphael cried harder. “It’s okay, Raph. I’ll live.”

“You think.”

“Even if I don’t, that’s okay.”

“You don’t mean that,” Raphael sniffled, pulling away.

“Raph, I have no proof that this isn’t going to be my lot till the end of eternity. I’d much rather die from an abundance of holiness than daily tortures.”

Raphael started crying harder. “I can believe Mom cast you and everyone else out. I can’t believe She’s letting this all happen. Why? Why would She do that? Do you know?”

Crawly sighed. “I was the Voice of God, Raphael, not God Herself. But I know this – she never answers questions. Not anymore. That’s why everyone else came to me and asked. And because of who I was, they all believed me. But Raphael? All those answers? I made them up. Some were very educated, logical guesses, though. What was right, what was wrong? No clue.

“So, no. I don’t know why She would do this. Not for sure. And I won’t tell you what I think, for obvious reasons. I can tell you though She hasn’t given me something to say for so long.”

“Has She abandoned her children?”

“I can’t answer that.”

Raphael stared at his hands. Crawly wanted to reach up and comfort him, stroke a thumb across his cheek. Push back his hair. He didn’t have the energy to do anything but lie there.

“It’ll be like before,” Crawly whispered, wishing he could fall back asleep. “Remember all our tests with chemicals and blood? We got scabbing to work, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Raphael said. His voice was dull. Sad. Dare Crawly say it, hopeless. “Except now you’re the test subject.”

* * *

Crawly wasn’t sure how long the Devil gave them to figure things out – it certainly felt more than a day. Then again, every time Raphael placed his hands on either side of a wound and tried to heal it, each time Crawly felt searing pain along every molecule of light that made him, it felt like hours even if it was seconds.

They tried different intensities of healing, learning that it hurt no matter what, but smaller doses at least allowed Crawly to get used to the pain while larger ones overwhelmed him and knocked him out. When he could think about anything other than pain, he tried to follow the threads of Raphael’s power. Looked deep and small and see what it did to his body.

He looked at himself, at his dark, snake-like, ugly body. Disassociated a few times. Screamed for more. Slowly, he put together a theory.

“Can I try something,” he gasped as Raphael removed his bloody hands from Crowly’s thigh.

“Are you contributing ideas now? Because I would love some.”

“Maybe.”

“You can try if you tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Thinking - not sure it’s healing that hurts. I think it’s just angelic energy. Need to know it’s mutual.”

“Need to know it mutual?”

“Might hurt. Give me your hand.”

“Nope. I’ll let you do it, Cici, but only after a break.”

“F-fine.”

It turned out, demonic and angelic energies mixed like oil and water. They repelled each other as best as they could, but a concentrated push – like a healing attempt – was enough to cross the barrier even as it hurt the one not pushing. It meant Raphael couldn’t snap Crawly’s wounds cleans just as Crawly couldn’t clean his brother’s face.

“Devil called us Hell Heaven’s mirror,” Crawly said, face against the cool stone floor. He always returned from the torture sessions broken and bloody. “Try to unheal me?”

“No. Cici?”

“Hmm?”

“Go to sleep. Rest. I’ll think of something.”

Raphael’s “something” turned out to be really, really detailed lessons about all aspects of healing. From how it made Raphael feel, to how he drew and manipulated the energy he used, to detailed angelic biology lessons. The latter of which frequency fell into discussions about the differences between angelic and demonic bodies.

It wasn’t scientific at all, but they had their observations. Carefully mingled their essences to try and get an understanding. It meant Crawly had to let his younger brother see the monster he’d become. Raphael, to his credit, said nothing about his new demonic form.

Near as they could tell, the Devil had been right in calling Hell and demons a mirror to Heaven. It wasn’t just that the powerful became the weak and the weak the powerful. It was also that what had made angels angels had gotten twisted and flipped.

An angel was a being of light. They radiated it. Traveled like it. But their core had always been a place of shadow, a place of cool respite for the self. Crawly’s new body was the opposite. Dark light, dark scales, but at the center of him a cool bit of blue that hurt in how it reminded him of his time as an angel.

They were both still beings of light, in a way, it was just as if... as if something had been added to Crawly’s make up. Like... like how changing the chemical components of stars change the light the gave off. God had done something to demons, turned them into another element. Was that element the reason it hurt when they interacted? If he could just figure out what it was, could Raphael heal him?

In the end, he put into practice a different theory.

* * *

Crawly lost track a while ago of how many demons the Devil had sent him to, but they were starting to get creative. They had to, to get their kicks. With his healing slow, he couldn’t last through sessions very long and there weren’t much unblemished parts of his body to work with.

Zedna got very creativie.

Zedna he vaguely recognized from before, from Heaven. He had been an acquaintance, of a sort, in Heaven, a lower rank in his own choir – the Hayot Ha Kodesh. Zedna had been a firsthand witness to Crawly’s thoughts. While no one could match him for imagination, for knowledge, those in his choir had some talent in it.

Zedna had a stronger demon helping him, and together they brought out Crowly’s wings, all six of them. They clamped each wing to the floor, stretched tight. Zedna pulled out a bone saw. He started cutting.

Crawly bit through his lip after the second cut. He was screaming after the fifth, blood running down both the form he wore in this plane of Hell and his demonic form. It slickened the cuts, slickened Zedna’s hand. The saw bit into something new each time.

He passed out, found himself forced awake only to hear a soft, wet, thump and suddenly feel unbalanced. Crawly screwed his eyes shut. He had no desire to see his own wing on the floor.

Zedna went for the next wing.

Crawly passed out again.

He woke in the same cell to the sound of arguments. The combination of throbbing and lack of weight let him know he was down three wings. He still refused to open his eyes. Didn’t have the heart to see, didn’t have the energy. His body pulsed with pain, but it was light. On another plane, his demonic form shrank, leaking energy. Absently, Crawly wondered if he was dying.

He wasn’t the only one.

“You aren’t supposed to kill him!” the Devil shouted.

“You said do anything I wanted!” Zedna shouted back. “He made us fall, he deserves to lose his wings.”

“I want him _alive._ Someone grab Raphael.”

Then Raphael was there, angry and glowing. Even through his pain Crawly noticed him. He wanted comfort. Someone to hold him while he died.

He wanted his brother.

“R-raph,” he said, fingers straining.

Raphael whirled on the Devil. “What did you do? Why did you do this? Who did this?” His gaze tracked through the room until he frozen, staring at something near Crawly’s back. Zedna, saw in hand.

There was no other way to describe it, Raphael _exploded._ His cheeks puffed up, his skin turned red. Crawly felt the built-up of angelic energy. He closed his eyes, expected the pain of healing. Raphael’s power washed over Crawly, _passing_ him, and hit Zedna straight in the chest.

Zedna screamed. The other demons in the room blessed. Crawly felt the pain from the wave of energy, but he didn’t care, he was already saturated with pain, and there was something else capturing his attention.

Raphael’s hands guiding Crawly’s head into the spot where the angel’s neck and shoulder meet.

“What happened to Zedna?” someone shrieked, but Crawly tuned it out. He breathed in Raphael’s scent.

“I can’t heal this, Cici. I can’t heal this.” Raphael’s tears were in Crawly’s hair, washing away the ichor. “Don’t die, Cici, please. If you were an angel still, it’d be no problem, but I _can’t_ heal a _demon._ Don’t die, Cici. Don’t die. Please. I love you. Don't leave him here. Don't die. I don’t want to lose you again.”

Crawly was too restrained to wrap his arms around Raphael. In too much pain to try. Yet he would have done anything to calm his younger brother’s tears.

Crawly heard the Devil scoff. “If Crawly dies, kill them both.”

_No._

“I’m not... I’m not leaving you here, Raph,” Crawly croaked. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

Raphael hadn’t been able to heal Crawly, angels and demons were too different. But Crawly had so much information in his head, theories, and old teachings, and Raphael’s most recent attempts to teach him. He knew all the requirements to conduct a healing, he’d just never done it. But what if that was the catch? Like could only heal like?

Angelic power, angelic healing, could only peacefully interact with angels. Maybe demonic power was the same.

Crawly mentally walked through the steps of healing, imagining the sensations Raphael spoke about, remembering his own knowledge of creation. It turned out, they knew how to heal all him all along, they just used the wrong power source.

Crawly used his own diminishing power to heal himself and promptly passed out for the third time.

* * *

Crawly woke to the gently carding of his hair. After all the time he’d spent in a cell with Raphael, he knew his brother's hands quite well. Sighing, Crawly pressed his cheek deeper into Raphael’s lap.

“It work then?”

“Yes. How’d you manage it, Cici?”

“What did you do to Zedna?”

“Not sure,” Raphael said, still stroking Crawly’s hair. “I just, I got so angry. You were there, dying, and I wanted them to die too. I knew healing hurt you, so I just sorta...healed times a thousand at them.”

“Huh.”

“Burnt him right up,” Raphel said.

Something in his town made Crawly tilt his head and look up at his brother. His red-gold hair was limp, his green eyes staring at the wall.

“The demons are saying I smote him. Not sure what that means, but there you. I didn’t think about it at the time, but now I wonder if I might have accidentally done that to you. If I had... if I had...”

“Hey, none of that now.” Crawly brought a hand up to cup his brother’s knees. “I’m alright.”

Raphael hiccupped. “I’m the angel of healing and I just _killed_ a demon.”

“He deserved it.”

Raphael’s hand stilled, his palm sitting heavy on Crawly’s skull.

“He deserved it,” Crawly said again.

“Maybe,” Raphael whispered. “Didn’t mean I wanted to be the one to kill him. How’s your back?”

“Sore. I, did they?”

Raphael shook his head. “I’m sorry, Cici. You lost all four wings. I, I removed the bone bits left. You were already unconscious, you didn’t even twitch. But, they’re gone.”

“’Fraid of that.”

Crawly sighed. No use crying over spilled milk, but still. He felt hobbled. He wondered if just one set of wings could even lift his demonic body, if he’d be forced to crawl anytime he wanted to move.

“I’m glad you figured it out,” Raphael said, voice thick with unshed tears. “How’d you manage, by the way?”

Crawly closed his eyes, simply absorbing his brother’s warmth. They were both alive. He was so happy they were both alive.

“Did what you taught me,” Crawly said, already feeling himself drift off, “Just, used my own energy. Angels can’t heal demons. Gotta have a demon healer. Energy mixtures.”

“Not sure I’m following,” Raphael said.

“Oh, I am,” a third voice said.

Crawly’s eyes shot up. He pushed himself up on one elbow, ignoring the screeching in his back. The Devil stood leaning against the doorway of their cell. Crawly hadn’t heard the door open.

“I know exactly what you’re saying, Crawly. You’re saying Raphael has no use to us. He cannot be a physician in Great War for our side. But you can. We have no use for you, angel.”

“No. No, we do. I don’t know how to heal everything. Raphael still has much to teach me.”

“Oh, I think he’s taught us enough. He taught you how to heal. He taught us it’s possible to kill a demon. And now he’s going to be first in line to tell us if it's possible to kill an angel.”

Two demons entered the cell. They pulled Raphael to his feet, forcing Crawly to the floor. He tried to stand, but fire ran down his spine. He was alive, not fully healed, scarred and damaged. “You can’t do this,” Crawly pleaded. “We’re not like this. God preaches love.”

“Haven’t you learned yet, Crawly?” the Devil said. “God might preach love, but She doesn’t experience it. Not if she cast us down here. Let Heaven have its light and virtues. Hell has fire and sin.”

The Devil called fire to his fingertips. It sparked and hissed. Despite its bright color, it felt dark. The flame grew bigger, the sense of _demon_ grew stronger and Crawly knew exactly what was happening. If enough angelic power could kill a demon, enough demonic energy would kill an angel.

They were different elements now. They couldn’t touch each other, couldn’t mingle their essences without pain. Raphael hated causing that pain, he cried over Crawly and Zedna. The Devil, Crawly knew, would relish it. He laughed as he lit Raphael’s hair on fire. Laughed as his dirty robe caught as well. Laughed as Crawly screamed and Raphael screamed and the demons holding onto Raphael twirled flames around their fingers.

They kept Crawly in the same cell for eons, until Eden was finished. Until humans were finished and awake.

"Go and make some trouble," the Devil whispered in Crawly’s ear. "You turned us from God, now do the same to humans."

And so he went, so he could stop breathing in his brother’s ashes.

* * *

“Raphael was my younger brother,” Crowley told Aziraphale, knocking back the scotch. “They were all my younger siblings. Michael and Gabriel. Raziel.”

“Raziel was your younger sibling? But...”

Crowley refused to look at Aziraphale. Refused to watch him put the pieces together.

“You don’t have to stay,” Crowley said, watching the mirrors on the couch for a hint of a demon’s tail. “I shouldn’t have asked you to run away with me. I just, I didn’t want to be without you. I love you, Aziraphale. And it’s, it’s okay if you don’t want to be here when the Devil comes. He’s done terrible things to those of higher rank than you. He’s the reason Raphael is dead. Not missing, dead. And it's okay if… you change your mind about me.”

He can’t bring himself to look, _he can’t,_ but the words have to be said. Aziraphale knew enough now to figure out the truth, and it’s best he heard Crowley say it first.

“The Devil hates me. And he hates me because of who I was. I used to be the Voice of God, Aziraphale. Before I fell, my name was Lucifer.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My version of Heaven's structure is loosely based on the teachings of an esoteric society called the [, Order of the Golden Dawn](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hermetic_Order_of_the_Golden_Dawn) whose opinion of Heavenly hierarchy was inspired by the Jewish Kabbalah. Wikipedia also tells me the ranking is the same in the Maimonides school of thought. That said, having been brought up Christian I've got that theology popping up in here too. 
> 
> In short, there are ten archangels, themselves ranked by power, who oversee associated choirs of angels. Raphael is six, followed by Uriel, Michael, Gabriel, and Sandalphon. 
> 
> Aziraphale's canon rank of Principality doesn't quite work with this setup, as it's from Christianity's POV on angels, but as the angels guarding Eden are also pretty explicitly stated to be cherub in genesis, Aziraphale is in the 9th Choir - Cherubim - under Gabriel.
> 
> Lucifer on the other hand (who is later replaced by Metatron) is the leader of the 1st choir - Hayot Ha Kodesh. Metatron has some interesting theology around him, including (doubtful but still propagated) being a second divine figure beside/under God. Hence his (and first Lucifer's) position as the Voice of God.


	4. Devil on Your Heels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? I post a bunch of snippets on Tumblr today AND a chapter? Miracles do happen.

In the quiet of their private hostel room, Crowley filled his glass with a second round of scotch. The small noises of it – the _pop_ of opening the bottle, the _plss_ of liquid against glass, the soft _thump_ of the bottle returning to the floor – felt unordinarly loud.

There were no sounds from outside. No sounds from the body next to him either. Crowley thought Aziraphale wasn't breathing. When he turned to look at the angel, he saw he guessed true.

Normally, they're both good at passing for human. They've had a lot of practice, after all. There's a sense of mimicry involved – not just wearing the body as a suit but ensuring it moves in natural ways. When there's no breath, when blinks don't happen, a body is too still and stiff, it can freak a human out. They can sense when something is only acting human. The trick to going unnoticed on Earth was making them think you were one.

Crowley supposed this was a first – shocking Aziraphale enough to make him forgot to perform actions that were second nature to them now.

"Aziraphale?" he asked softly. Uncertain.

Aziraphale blinked, body becoming human again.

"Sorry, dearest. I had to… process." He reached out and placed a hand on Crowley's knee. "I have questions. Lots of questions, all of which will keep. But I'm staying, Crowley. Knowing more about your past doesn't change the being I've known and loved for thousands of years."

Crowley surged across the inches between them, scotch glass falling to the floor in his desperation to kiss Aziraphale senseless. He allowed himself only a few seconds, they didn't want to be caught unaware by the Devil, but he _had_ to show Aziraphale just how much those words meant to him.

"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale pushed back a small lick of hair from the demon's forehead. "I'm not leaving you. I love you. And I'm certainly not leaving you to face Satan alone."

"You sure?" Crowley said. "Heaven assumes Lucifer leads Hell, but he did – I did – cause everyone to Fall."

Aziraphale took Crowley's hands in his, staring into Crowley's eyes. He went unhuman again, just a moment, processing and searching Crowley's uncovered gaze. Crowley hoped he could see it all—his guilt, his remorse, the accidental nature of it all.

"You can tell me the story another time," Aziraphale kissed Crowley's forehead. "But for now, know that I'm here. I trust you. You're not alone."

Crowley fell forward into Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around the angel's middle and doing his best not to cry into his shoulder. This was still new between them. Aziraphale giving Crowley the benefit of the doubt, not jumping to demonic name-calling or stereotyping. Open care and support. It made Crowley either hot and bothered or on the edge of crying every single time. He _never_ expected to be on the receiving end of unconditional love again. Every time he faced it, his emotions became too much.

"I don't deserve you, angel."

"Nonsense. After all the patience you gave me, putting up with how often I hurt you, I'm the one who doesn't deserve you, Crowley."

Crowley buried his face further into Aziraphale's neck, placed a kiss, then pulled away. Aziraphale stayed close, pressing against him from shoulder to knee, as Crowley turned his attention to his scotch-soaked jeans. At least the glass hadn't broken.

He sighed, resigned to wet pants. Cursing them dry could be a signal flare to the Devil.

"Tell me the basics," Aziraphale said, both of them watching the mirrors. "What do I need to know, right now, in case he shows up?"

Crowley swallowed. "He said he had a job for me. But I don't want to do it. And the last time that happened, I got tossed into a cell with an angel and tortured every day."

"I won't let him," Aziraphale hissed.

"He's the most powerful person in Hell, angel. Not much he can't do."

"What happened? Last time?" Aziraphale linked their fingers together, clasped hands resting on the angel's thigh.

"I eventually did what he wanted," Crowley said. "And then, I think he just got bored of me. Told me to make trouble on Earth. It was eons before I went back to Hell. And when I did, it was only after I had enough of a reputation demons planned before they hurt me. They all know, Aziraphale. That I'm why they Fell. That I have the least power in Hell."

"I've never known anyone else to stop time."

"Consequence of my old job. I don't have a lot of power, but I have an active imagination. Sometimes it works like a loophole, and the shock of what I’m doing gives me enough time to slip away from another demon. But as my powers are fairly easy to suppress…"

He trailed off. Aziraphale squeezed his hand. Crowley bit the inside of his cheek and continued.

"Lucifer was the Voice of God. The Devil wants me to fill a similar role, but I don't want to return to Hell, angel. I don't want to listen to him, talk for him. Be on display. Be _noticed._ I just want to live in peace with you, here on Earth."

"So you shall," Aziraphale vowed.

* * *

The Devil showed up in the early hours of the morning. Aziraphale, senses on high alert, gently shook Crowley to alertness and pointed to the form approaching the hostel in the mirrors. Crowley's mind was sluggish from an overabundance of stress and an underabundance of rest, but he forced himself to focus.

"What do you want to do?" Aziraphale asked. "I can miracle us someplace else. I don't want him to get you, Crowley."

He thought about it. The idea of running, again and again, didn't sound very attractive. But he remembered the Devil forcing him to learn how to heal, Raphael burning in hellfire, only it was Aziraphale now, and it wasn't the weak demons the Devil gave Crowley too. He shuddered.

"Do it," Crowley said. "Someplace I'd never go."

"Hold tight."

Aziraphale slid an arm under Crowley's knees, another between his back and the wall.

“Oi! I can walk-”

“Not where we’re going,” Aziraphale said, snapping his fingers near Crowley’s knees.

“The Sistine Chapel?” Crowley hissed when they popped into existence. It was hard to miss the painted ceiling.

“You said somewhere you’d never go. And I’m assuming Satan won’t come here either.”

“Can’t, actually,” Crowley admitted. “I handle holiness better than most. Benefit of hangin’ round you, I reckon. But angel,” he coughed into a hand. “Don’t need to touch things to be stung. Lots of incense in here. Power in the air.”

Aziraphale held him tighter. “How long can you stay here?”

“If you hold me? A week, maybe two. Set me down someplace... I dunno. A day.”

“We’ll only spend the night then,” Aziraphale said.

The church had closed for the day, leaving sunset to paint uninterrupted streaks of light on the marble floor. It was quite pretty, Crowley admitted. He also admired all the subtle digs in the murals around him. A human after his own heart, Michelangelo was.

Aziraphale walked to a corner of the chapel, out of sight from the main entry. “Do you think shifting will draw attention to us?”

Even if it did, Crowley figured they were safe for a while. No demon, not even Satan, would want to step foot in the Sistine Chapel. It would be painful at minimum, deadly at worse. He shrunk, turning from human to a three-foot snake, and crawled up Aziraphale’s arm to curl around his neck.

Once he settled, Aziraphale stroked his head with a fingertip.

“Get some sleep, dearest. I’ll guard.”

“Sshouldn’t.”

“You need it. Your body’s much too used to it, and you were nodding off at the hostel.”

Crowley flicked out his tongue. It didn’t feel right, letting Aziraphale guard and wait by himself. They were interested in _Crowley._ He should be awake to greet a threat.

“Please, love.” Aziraphale kissed the top of Crowley’s head.

“Okay,” he said, closing his eyes.

Aziraphale could handle it.

* * *

He woke a gentle shaking. “Up, Crowley. We’re leaving.”

He hissed as he woke up, but Aziraphale seemed to understand.

“The humans are getting ready for the day, and I don’t think it’s wise to waste the miracles to hide ourselves. We’d have to leave anyway, now’s a good time.”

“Where?” Crowley asked, still sleepy but trusting Aziraphale to make the right decision.

“Another place where you’d never go. Ready?”

He shook the sleep from his eyes and curled tighter around Aziraphale’s neck in answer.

With a soft, echoing snap, Aziraphale transported them away.

The first thing Crowly noticed was the cold. His eyes weren’t good when he was a snake, but he could easily detect the temperature difference between Rome and here.

The second thing he noticed was Aziraphale tensing up beneath him. His body stiffened; power rose beneath his skin.

“Ah, Crowley and Aziraphale,” the Devil said. “You never go someplace cold if you can help it, Crowley. But you’re a wily thing. You like to do the unexpected. I won’t allow you to run away again. I figured you’d come to the South Pole eventually and wanted to be prepared.”

He needed eyes, needed hands, and legs. Crowley pushed off of Aziraphale’s shoulders, transforming as he did. Before he hit the ground, he read the situation – a dozen demons, hellfire weapons wielded by each.

As he moved to stand back-to-back with Aziraphale, none of them moved to attack.

“What do you want, Satan?” Aziraphale spat.

Crowley couldn’t see the Devil’s response, he stood facing Aziraphale, but the demon across from him looked bored. Interestingly enough, they weren’t surrounded by dukes and princes. They were mid-class, third-tier. What was the Devil playing at?

“As I told Crowley before, I have a job for him.”

“I’m not going back to Hell!” Crowley screeched. He reached back for Aziraphale’s hand, ready to curse them away. To run.

Something heavy hit him in the side of the face.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yelled.

It turned to madness, demons launching themselves at the two beings in the center. Aziraphale brought out his wings, Grace sparking, but not enough to smite anyone. Crowley stood too close. Crowley dodged punches and kicks, occasionally biting with fangs. His advantages in the past – surprising his opponents, twisting words – didn't work here. Not against so many.

It took seventy-two seconds to knock him to the ground. A demon locked Crowley’s wrists together with cuffs, suppressors, and Crowley went dizzy with their effects. He didn’t have a lot of power, he’d find his equilibrium soon, but in the seconds it took for him to fight with the headache, to get used to his unaided eyesight, the other eleven demons took Aziraphale down. Blinded as he was, he could still tell the difference between the snow and ice around them and the beige of the angel’s suit.

“Angel!”

“I’m fine,” he answered, glaring at the Devil as he pushed himself to his feet. Crowley couldn’t see them, but he heard the chink of metal, tasted the familiar spell in the air. They’d trapped Azirpahle’s powers too.

Would Heaven notice? Would Heaven care? Probably not.

Crowley refused to be dragged down to Hell. Refused to be locked up in a cell again. Refused to watch Aziraphale’s suit dirty, pants ripped for bandages, until he was all used up and burned in a pillar of Hellfire.

He pushed himself to his feet. Rushed to stand between Aziraphale and the Devil.

“Don’t touch him,” He spat. “It’s me you want, but you don’t lay a _finger_ on Aziraphale.”

The Devil... sighed.

“Really, Crowley. There’s no need for this. Can we just talk?”

“Talk?!”

“It’s a job offer, not a conscription.”

“You just had twelve demons jump us!”

“But you’re not greatly injured, are you?”

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s spine. “I’m just battered,” he whispered into Crowley’s ear. “No broken bones, no hellfire burns.”

Crowley himself might have a concussion, but compared to treatment by demons in the past? Yeah, this was light.

“If you really want to talk, take these off.” Crowley stuck out his hands, showcasing the suppressor cuffs.

“Fine, but the angel’s stays on until we’re done. I’m not letting you go until you hear my full proposal.”

Crowley hissed at him.

“We can even talk right here, no going to Hell.” The Devil snapped his figures, cursing up an open tent, with a table, three chairs, furs layering the ground, a glowing electric lamp hanging above the table, and Crowley’s favorite scotch.

“You won’t drag him back to Hell?” Aziraphale asked.

“Please,” the Devil answered. “I don’t want him there just as much as he wants to be there.”

He didn’t have much of a choice. Plus, Crowley had to admit, now the Devil had him curious and that was a bad thing for him to be. It'd gotten him in trouble more than once.

“Fine, we’ll talk,” Crowley said.

He shook his wrists. With a snap, the Devil made the cuffs disappear. Crowley used his power to bring his snake sense up to human standards, giving Aziraphale a better look over. Bruises. Minor cuts. Several handfuls of pulled out feathers. Nothing serious.

A wind blew, making the Devil’s warm tent even more attractive. He marched into it, Aziraphale at his back.


	5. Devil's Advocate

Crowley wished the Devil would get right to it, but he took his time. Poured out glasses of scotch for them all, switching Aziraphale’s to wine when it was obvious the angel wasn’t drinking, making sure the heat the electric lamp above them was enough for Crowley’s snake body. He even cursed up a wool hat, which Crowley refused to wear.

It was odd, to say the least. Almost like, well, like the Devil was buttering Crowley up. He found himself believing that the Devil really did only want to talk and had every intention of letting them go. Whatever the situation was that made him request Crowley to speak on his behalf as the Voice of the Devil was delicate enough he couldn’t force Crowley into it. And he was low-key desperate to have Crowley say yes.

He wondered if he could squeeze a promise or two out of him as payment for the job.

“So,” Aziraphale coughed into a fist, interrupting the staring contest the Devil and Crowley had found themselves in. “Let’s talk.”

“Why do you want _me_ to be the Voice of the Devil?” Crowley shot out. “Have some other demon do it. I’m sure demons would kill for the job.”

“I don’t need you to represent me to other demons,” the Devil said. “I need you to speak to humans on my behalf.”

Crowley choked on air. “Excuse me?”

“I need you to -”

“No, no. I heard you.” Crowley flapped a hand at him, catching Aziraphale’s eye. The angel looked thoughtful.

“We’ve been released from duty from both sides,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley doesn’t have to do any temptations or such for Hell anymore.”

“Like I said,” the Devil ground his teeth, “This isn’t a conscription. If Crowley doesn’t want to do it, he doesn’t have to.”

“I’m not going to go around, spreading the Word of Satan to all of humanity.” Crowley crossed his arms, leaning back in the chair.

“Not all of humanity. Just...one.”

“One.” Crowly deadpanned.

“One human?” Aziraphale asked.

The Devil sighed. “Adam.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale leaned forward. “You want us, or rather, Crowley, to intervene on your behalf. Well, we won’t help you convince Adam to take you back as his father.”

“That’s not -”

Aziraphale stared the Devil down. Crowley wasn’t surprised to see him win.

The Devil tapped his fingernails, claws really, on the table. “Thy will be done,” he said. “The humans have translated prayers and scripture so many times.”

While taking a sip of wine, Aziraphale hummed in agreement.

“We...Fell,” the Devil continued, looking at Crowley, “because we believed _guesses_ about God’s will. We heard Lucifer speak, and as the Voice of God, how could we not believe him? But he convinced us of wrong things. Or maybe it was just you, _Cici,_ who She wanted to punish, and the rest of us were just an example.”

Crowley looked down at the floor. Aziraphale grasped his hands.

“We weren’t following God’s plan, we had deviated too much, believed another over Her, so we Fell. And we continued to not follow Her word because after all, we were already punished for it, were we not?”

No one said anything.

“But then the happenings as Tadfield,” the Devil turned to look at Aziraphale, who sat up straighter. “Heaven’s not following Her plan either. You’re also guessing. Only it’s not Lucifer who's doing the guessing, getting those below him to believe his word. It’s Metatron. Or the remaining Archangels. We're all...guessing.” He took a sip of his scotch, staring out at the South Pole beyond the tent.

The demons who had ambushed Crowley and Aziraphale had mostly returned to Hell – only two remained and they weren’t behaving much like guards. They had their own bottle of alcohol and seemed to actually enjoy the cold weather. 

“Heaven and Hell,” the Devil looked over at Crowley again, and he could see the Devil pulling back the thousands of years since the Fall. He wasn’t seeing Crowley, the low-level demon from Hell, or Crawly, the recently de-powered angel all of Hell wanted their piece of flesh from. He saw Lucifer, the Morning Star, his beauty a gift of God, the only being with enough power to alter, change, _create_ , the forces of the world that would bring about life besides God, the only being who had _heard_ God, talked to God, at a moment more than their creation.

The angels operated on faith, seeing God’s work, hearing her Word secondhand, but Lucifer had a front-row seat to her power, her favor. He had _proof_ of Her while spreading the seeds of her belief among the angels.

In a way, Crowley wondered if he was the root of religion, as well as the Fall. He shook the thought off. He was nothing but a lowly demon, content to lurk in bookshelves and wine cellars on Earth now. He didn’t want even a hint of that power again.

“Heaven and Hell,” the Devil said again, “were built around the concept of God. Love Her. Hate Her. Promote and serve Her cause. Counteract it and spread opposing messages. It all circles around Her, who abandoned us so long ago. When did she stop speaking to you?”

Crowley closed his eyes and cast his thoughts back. “A long time ago. Not long after the choirs had been filled out.”

“Eden?”

“We made the plans together, but beyond that?” Crowley shook his head. “I managed the creation of life. I oversaw the manipulation of universal forces. I don’t know who oversaw the construction of the Garden. We’d Fallen by then.”

“Metatron,” Aziraphale supplied. “Though I do say he probably was simply following the designs left behind.”

“To be fair, I did the same thing. It was like God left me with rooms of documents, and left me to follow the instructions. Plants, animals, gravity. We had brainstormed much together, but by the time the Plan was rolling out, I hadn’t heard from Her.”

“You _ran_ Heaven,” Aziraphale said, shocked.

“I mean, I thought everyone knew?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “God wasn’t Speaking, people came to me for everything. Even when we all Fell there was... very little involvement from Her. Oh, She tossed us out, but never said a word.” He turned back to the Devil. “What does this have to do with Adam?”

“Humanity isn’t like us. They don’t revolve around God. Some of them do, but not all of them. Adam’s decisions in Tadfield were purely God-free. I wish to... understand.” The Devil sighed. “I went to see him by myself, but he slammed the door in my face, and then the witch did something to his house. He will not talk to me.”

“Ergo, you need me to play messenger.”

“Yes.”

Crowley knocked back his scotch.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Aziraphale asked, turning to him. “Just like that?”

“Well, I’m willing to do it,” Crowley amended, “but if you’ve got something to say to Adam I don’t approve of I’ll filter it. When I speak to him, you’re not there. Unless he wants you to.”

“I was hoping we could get to that point, that I wouldn’t need an intermediary to talk to my own son.”

“Not yours anymore, ain’t he?”

“No. That’s one of the questions I’d like an answer to.”

Crowley nodded. “I’ll ask. But just so we’re clear. I’m in a messenger role only. No other tasks. No questions for me, about _anything_.”

“Done.”

“And the next time you decide to show up, warn me.”

The Devil lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have a preferred way?”

Crowley waved his phone. “Text’ll do.”

The Devil nodded.

“Now, anything else, or can Aziraphale and I go?”

With a small click, Aziraphale’s cuffs unlatched. The angel rotated his wrists, finally putting his wings away. Crowley would have to groom them, back at the bookshop.

“I’ll visit tomorrow for lunch,” the Devil said. “To tell you what I want you to say first.”

Crowley gave a crisp nod, then snapped both him and Aziraphale away.

* * *

They appeared in the bookshop, where Crowley immediately started to fret over Aziraphale. “Show me your wings. What hurts the most?”

“I’m fine, dearest.”

“Angel.”

Aziraphale sighed, bringing out his wings. “I can heal myself, but if you wouldn’t mind-”

“Of course not.”

Aziraphale settled on an ottoman, stuffing slightly flat from years of use, while Crowley stood behind him and started to set his wings to order. Concentrating on the feather distracted Crowley from his own injuries. His face throbbed, from whatever had hit him at the start of the fight and a few punches that landed. His knees and a rib hurt too.

Crowley took his time, making sure Aziraphale’s wings were perfect. The angel had done so much for him – leaving when he asked, protecting him, standing up for him. Crowley wanted to make sure Aziraphale know how much he appreciated it.

Aziraphale’s wings weren’t very large, and he only had one pair compared to Crowley’s now two, but it still took a few hours. They both were quiet through it, lost in thought. When Crowley finally pulled his fingers away, Aziraphale turned around to look at him. Then, he grabbed Crowley’s hand to pull him to the couch, adjusting their bodies so Crowley was curled up against Aziraphale’s side, the angel’s wings shielding them.

“Well,” Aziraphale said. “Today wasn’t the worst we’ve had.”

Crowley snorted. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Are you okay?”

“Hmm?”

“You still have blood on your hair.”

“Oh.”

“Can you please heal yourself?”

“... I don’t want to.”

“Okay.”

They sat there in silence before Crowley gave out a big sigh. “I know you’re not gonna ask, but I’m sure you have tons of questions so...” he pulled away.

“Do you want me to grab some wine?”

“Later. I want to tell you this first. I...I... Raphael was the best at healing, it’s what he was created for. I knew the premises but never tried. Didn’t have to. But after we Fall, the Devil wanted a demon healer. As you know, our energies don’t... mix. He couldn’t just force Raph to do it. He made Raphael teach me, and then when I learned he killed him. Right now I don’t think I could... could do that because I... I was... I am... ”

If Crowley tried to heal himself right now, all he would see would be his little brother going up in flames. All he would feel was the throbbing ache of the wings Zedna sawed off. He knew the situations were different, _knew it,_ but the Devil and old memories were in his head right now and all Crowley could think of was being forced to learn, forced to heal. It was an ill-gotten skill. And right now, Crowley wanted to avoid anything dealing with the Devil. He just wanted to bask in the fact that he was okay, Aziraphale was okay, and they would continue to _be okay._

"Oh, dearest."

No tears came, demons don't cry, but his body trembled with the aftershocks of everything that didn't happen. He wasn't in a cell. Aziraphale wasn't in a cell. They weren't going to be tortured, they weren't going to be forced to do something they didn't want. The Devil, strangely enough, was considering a change of heart.

"We're safe," Aziraphale said, stroking Crowley's hair. "You're safe. I'm safe. We're safe."

Demons weren't supposed to seek comfort either, but pressed up against Aziraphale's soft body, feeling his warmth, was exactly what Crowley needed. When his trembling finally stopped, he stayed in Aiziraphale's lap, letting the angel soothe him.

He could have fallen asleep like that, if Aziraphale hadn't brought up the topic at hand. "Did we want to talk to Adam? Warn him what Satan wants?"

Sighing, Crowley pushed himself up. As he did so, the world returned to its normal state. Aziraphale put his wings away, Crowley's his feelings. He might be okay being… being soft and sweet with the angel, but only for a limited amount of time. He had an image to maintain, and now, a job to go with it.

"Probably should," Crowley said, pulling out his phone. He didn't actually have Adam's number, but he wanted it and there it sat in his phone. Trouble was, since that day in Tadfield, neither he nor Aziraphale had interacted with the humans much. Would Adam even know who he was?

Nothing for it. He rang.

Aziraphale stood, retrieving the promised wine and pouring glasses. Crowley watched him work as the phone rang. It rang long enough that another caller would have been directed to voicemail, but Crowley was determined and he figured if the phone rang long enough, Adam would eventually pick it up just to stop it. Crowley debated about having his phone continue to ring while they drunk, but decided he'd much rather spend the time with Aziraphale. He hung up with a shrug and took the offered wine.

Aziraphale sat once again on the couch, but Crowley had reached his limit on vulnerability for the day. Instead of leaning against the angel, he leaned against the far armrest, stretching his legs out into Aziraphale's lap. Aziraphale, to his credit, didn't so seem to care what part of Crowley he touched; he held his wine glass in one hand and stroked up and down Crowley's shin with the other.

They tried to spend the night like any other, chatting about humans and drinking the night away, but every so often Crowley's mind would return to what had been said in the Devil's Artic tent. It was obvious Aziraphale's did too.

"Do you think what he said was true?" the angel asked.

"What?"

"That we're all guessing at God's plan."

Crowley snorted. "I thought you believed the same. What with that Ineffable Plan bullshit you pulled on Gabriel."

"I honestly just thought it would confuse them."

Crowley laughed. "Well, it worked."

"But if God really does have an Ineffable Plan, no one will be able to guess it. Not Heaven, not Hell, not Earth either."

"I gave up guessing a long time ago, angel."

"No, no. I realize that. It's just… I always believed I was following it. To some extent. You had access to all of God's mind. Did you ever… did you ever _see_ a Plan?"

"No," Crowley whispered, looking into the depts of his wine. "I never did. It's why I guessed, even way back then. They were good guesses mind you, but that's all it ever was. All it ever will be, I suppose." He knocked back the rest of the wine. "After a while, you stop trying to guess."

"Is that what you've done? No more guessing?" Aziraphale whispered.

"Yeah. Nothing but facts for me."

"Hmm. That does explain a few things."

"Like what?"

Aziraphale reached out a hand, a request for a cuddle. Anything Aziraphale asked for, he got. Crowley placed his hand in the angel's and allowed him to maneuver them on the couch. They ended up both reclining, Crowley on Aziraphale's chest. The angel brushed light fingertips on the cut on Crowley's forehead he still couldn't bring himself to heal.

"You never guessed I loved you," Aziraphale said softly. "It never even crossed your mind, till you confessed and I said the same."

Crowley squirmed. "Yeah, well. You didn't give me a lot to go on. Mixed signals and all that."

More than a few stop signs too. Crowley had never been confident in how important their friendship had been to Aziraphale, never mind romance and love. Thinking he'd lost Aziraphale in the bookshop fire had pushed Crowley to outright tell Aziraphale how he felt, hoping to get the same in return. It worked out, in the end.

Aziraphale kissed Crowley's temple. "Do you think that Satan might stop using Hell to oppose Heaven?"

Crowley snorted. "Not guessing on that one, angel. But he's thinking, which is a start. It's good to define your life and yourself based on you."

"Didn't you tell Adam something similar?"

"Might 'ev," Crowley said, closing his eyes to concentrate on Aziraphale's forced heartbeat. Slow and even. Between his adrenaline crash earlier and the alcohol, Crowley was ready for a long nap.

"I'll wake you in the morning," he thought he heard Aziraphale say, carding fingers through Crowley's hair. Crowley hummed and let himself rest.

* * *

As promised, the Devil texted with a time and place for lunch the next day. Aziraphale accompanied Crowley and ordered the most expensive thing on the menu. It's not like they actually paid for it, but the angel still glared the Devil down and made him snap his fingers to conjure up the money.

Their talk was more business-like than the previous day. No one mentioned Heaven or God. The Devil had come prepared with a list of ten questions and Crowley had questions about those questions. Why did the Devil want to know? Could he elaborate? Which ones were most important? At the end of the day though, Crowley knew he would ask absolutely none of them.

He'd debated calling Adam again in the morning but ultimately settled for driving into Tadfield to talk to the kid in person. It was a Sunday, he'd be home, and Crowley was honestly curious as to how the kid was doing. He'd made a good choice, after all. Crowley knew he had no right to be proud of him, yet he was anyway. Just a bit.

"This is your plan?" Aziraphale said as they drove into town. "Just show up?"

"Pretty much."

"Crowley, you can't!"

Crowley turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow ridge over the end of his sunglasses. "I show up at your place all the time."

"Yes, but you're expected. You don't even know if Adam will be home."

"He'll be home."

Despite never having been to the Young household before, the Bentley knew exactly where to go. It took them past a small park, drawing the immediate attention of a woman with long brown hair and a dark plaid dress. The witch, Crowley remembered, who helped out before. The witch who had also warded Adam's home against the Devil. Ah, he'd forgotten about that.

The Young house _stung_ when they got close. Crowley twitched in his seat, drawing Aziraphale's attention.

"Something the matter?"

"Wards."

"Ah, well. I should be able to take them down."

"Nah, it's good they're there. But if you could step inside and ask Adam to step outside of them?"

"Of course."

The Devil must have ticked off the humans pretty bad, for the witch's wards covered not just the house proper, but also the surrounding plot of land. Crowley had to park across the street, where he leaned against his car as he watched Aziraphale walk up and ring the doorbell.

It echoed strangely until Crowley realized it wasn't an echo at all. The witch pedaled quickly toward him, ringing the bell on her bike to grab his attention. Crowley waved at her. She scowled and peddled faster, glower on her face. By the time she slid to a stop in front of Crowley, the Young's door was already opening to Adam himself.

"What are you doing here?" the witch asked.

"Oi, Bookgirl."

"It's Anathema. Why are you here? Is it because of Satan? Is he trying to destroy the Earth again?"

Crowley turned from the house to her, giving the witch – Anathema – his full attention. He never thought about how things looked from the human perspective before. He hadn't expected to be recognized either. It'd been a little over a year since they saw each other, and even then they'd spent maybe thirty minutes in each other's company.

"I'm here cuz of Satan, yeah," Crowley admitted. "But he's not trying to destroy the Earth."

"You're helping him?" Anathema raised an eyebrow. She was surprisingly good at that. He loved humans.

"Sorta. I'm really helping you lot though."

"How's that?"

Before Crowley could answer, the swing of a gate caught his attention. Aziraphale crossed the street, Adam Young in tow.

"You’re the demon from the airfield. Who stopped time."

"Yup. That's me."

"Aziraphale said you have a message for me?"

"Sorta. The Devil asked me to talk to you for him, seeing as you won't talk to him yourself. Good choice, by the way."

"Thanks."

"But before _any_ of that happens, I want you to know I'm on your side."

"I know," Adam said. "He hurt you, at the airfield. You didn't want the war."

"It's not about what I didn't want." Crowley looked at Aziraphale over the top of his glasses, golden eyes smiling. "It's about what I did want."

"And what's that?" Adam asked.

"Pretty sure it's what you want too, kid. A life of your own choosing, full of people you like. No plans to follow but your own, with people walking with you side by side. It's why you didn't just declare yourself the son of humans. It's why you got rid of your powers too. Coulda kept them, you know."

Adam nodded solemnly. "I like my parents, and I didn't like my powers. They were… scary."

Crowley nodded and Aziraphale took the initiative to rest a hand on Adam's shoulder.

"Most powers are," Anathema said. "If you don't need them, I don't think they're worth it."

"Surely," Aziraphale said, "Agnus Nutter's skill with prophecy-"

"There was a need for that," the witch cut in. "We needed to know how to stop the Apocalypse, and most of the prophecies before that were to give her credibility and position my family, me, to help you last year. But most of those notes we could have done without. In fact, she had a whole second set of prophecies that got delivered to me shortly after. I burned them."

Aziraphale made a noise of dismay. "I could have kept them!"

Anathema shrugged. "Too late now."

Crowley ignored the two of them, crouching down to be at eye level with Adam. "I had a lot of power once," he said. "I did some pretty cool things with it. Made the sun. Made the trees. Gravity."

Adam's eyes went huge.

"But I like me better now, without them. They weren't scary. They didn't exactly get me in trouble. Still, there's consequences to having power. People look to you, they follow you. For good or for worse." He took his sunglasses off, giving Adam full exposure to his eyes. The boy stared, but he wasn't frightened. "Like I said before though, what we both want isn't power. It's just to be ourselves. No expectations. No limitation. No requirements. We just want to live our lives, our way."

Adam nodded.

"I get it. And because it's your life, if you don't want to hear what the Devil has to say, I won't make you."

"Did you like it?"

"Like what?"

"What the Devil had to say?"

"Never thought I'd say this, but yeah."

"Really?"

"He had to chase me around the world and chain me up before I would listen to him, but what he said?" Crowley shrugged. "He's thinking about things. Asking good questions. And he'll listen to your answers because you're the one who made him think. He gave me a list of questions, but I want to start with some of my own if that's okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"One, are you okay with me being the Devil's Advocate?"

Adam's lips twitched into a smile. "Did you really just ask that?"

"It was that or Voice of the Devil. This is a better title."

"Yes, please be the Devil's Advocate."

Crowley grinned at him. "Two, are you willing to listen to the Devil's questions and answer them? It's okay if you say no."

"I know you're a demon, but I trust you," Adam said. "You gave me the power and time to choose what I wanted. And you talk to me like an adult. Are _you_ willing to ask the Devil's questions?"

"Most of 'em. The ones I'm not, I plain up won't ask."

"Then okay. I'll answer the questions the Devil's Advocate asks." There was a smirk on Adam's face. Once again, Crowley was reminded of how much he loved these curious monkeys.

Crowley grinned, slipping his sunglasses back on. "Glad to hear, kid. And who knows, now that you've saved humanity, maybe you can save the rest of God's creations. Now, here's your first question. What's the best part of being a human?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! Thanks all who've read this story! I love comments, but you're also welcome to come play with me on Tumblr. I'm [Uniasus](uniasus.tumblr.com) there too to make it easy for you.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr! [ Uniasus](uniasus.tumblr.com)


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